


Counting to Infinity

by birdienz



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's not too angsty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdienz/pseuds/birdienz
Summary: When the Flare first starting taking control of his mind, he had been terrified. No, not of dying, but of forgetting; having the memories of those he cared about torn from his mind like pages in a book. And slowly the virus took them, one by one.But now, after so long, they were coming back.





	Counting to Infinity

The memories came back, suddenly yet peacefully, like someone had reopened a picture book and was flipping through the pages.

Each lasting barely a second, yet they were so distinct, every detail remarkably clear as the memories flashed through Newt’s mind.

 

The first memories felt so familiar, yet foreign in his mind. A man and a woman stood stoically, staring out at what he assumed was once a beautiful neighbourhood – now barren, a feeling of darkness hanging in the air. They had been whispering something that he wasn’t able to comprehend, but a misstep onto a creaky floorboard had caught their attention, turning around to look at the small boy peering out from behind the sofa. Upon seeing him, their faces broke out into huge, caring smiles, and again he wondered how he knew them. As the man bent down and picked him up, holding him somewhat too tightly to his chest, the realisation of who these people were hit him.

The memory quickly faded into the next; a young girl smiling up at him. They were dancing together - had there been music? She was small, younger than he was but a mischievous glint shone in her eyes as she had attempted to drag him around the living room. Her hair was pulled back into what resembled two short French braids -  it was hard to tell with the blond locks falling out messily as she twirled around him. When she smiled, it was like nothing else mattered and it was at that moment he knew who she was. His sister. _Lizzie._ He hoped that wherever she was now, she was happy. That’s all he ever wanted for her, she deserved nothing less.   

The days when it had been just the four of them were the happiest, yet behind his parents’ smiles was something dark, haunting, like they could never allow themselves to be truly happy in the fear of what was to come. But their last Christmas together, that was one of the final times he could remember his parents smiling, and perhaps was why he was able to see this memory so clearly now. No matter how dark the years had become, his parents had always insisted on celebrating Christmas. They’d never had much to decorate with; they’d never really had much at all, but his father had ventured out to find a tree which they decorated with old tin cans, a star on the top. So, on Christmas morning, the four of them sat huddled around the tree and one could be mistaken for thinking that the world outside was still peaceful. His mother, father, and sister were all smiling, laughing. It was the last time he saw them genuinely happy. That was a memory he hoped to never forget again.

 

And then he saw Alby. When Newt had felt the virus starting to take control of him, this was one of the memories he had tried desperately to hold on to.  They had just finished up walking round the camp, making sure the Gladers were settled down for the night. The light from their lantern barely illuminating their surroundings but Newt could just make out the concern crossing Alby’s face. As he set his own lantern down, gently blowing out the candle, the older boy also set his lantern down and pulled him into a hug, surprising him. Moving out of the hug, Alby gave him a slight, knowing nod as he looked Newt in the eyes. He couldn’t describe it, or understand it, but bloody hell could he feel it. The warmth, the _love_ in Alby’s eyes, it made Newt feel like he had finally found a home. And although he hated, _hated_ the place, knowing that Alby would always be there for him made surviving just that bit easier. It was then, with the two of them standing, barely able to see one another  that Newt realised things could get better. That there was hope.

All these memories were tinged with sadness, but the one flashing across his mind now was particularly powerful. It was the first night that Thomas had arrived, and the two of them had been sitting on a log away from the other Gladers and Newt had turned to look back at the bonfire. They were happy; as happy as one is allowed to be when trapped inside a maze. Smiling, laughing, having fun, and for a brief moment all the worries in the world had just disappeared. The Medjacks, the Cooks, the Runners, there had been so many of them, so young and undeserving of the horrors forced upon them.

Sparks from the fire spluttered up into the dark night, if you didn’t look too hard it was almost magical. The fire itself gave off a rich glow, the light illuminating objects surrounding, shadows dancing as the flames flickered softly. The walls of the Maze loomed high above them, casting shadows which clawed their way towards the group. But the fire fought them off, keeping them back long enough to allow the Gladers an opportunity to be carefree – chances like that did not come often.  They were in a bubble; protected from the terrors beyond those walls, and although Newt knew that moments like this didn’t last forever, he was glad he could capture this. Seeing how far they had come since the early days of the Glade, and how relaxed the boys looked had given a strange sense of fulfilment to Newt. Like he had at least done _something_ right, and that was enough for him.

 

The next memory was quieter in his mind, a fleeting moment of peace the Scorch had granted him. Sitting on the rocks looking down on the Right Hand’s camp, the afternoon air had been so crisp, so fresh compared to the dryness of the Scorch, and whilst his lungs ached every time he breathed, it was a welcomed pain. It made him feel alive. Reminded him that this was real. His friends surrounded him on the rocks; not all of them- a reminder which had left his heart aching. But some. And that’s what mattered.

Looking down on the camp he could see Aris, Harriet and Sonya. They too had endured more than they should have at the hands of WCKD. But seeing them like this, simply as three friends finally together again reassured him that people could still find joy even on the darkest of days. There had been something about Sonya that had always nagged at the back of his brain when she was around, a strange sense of familiarity. Her long blonde hair – the way she was always wearing it in a messy plait. And that smile, it was so warm and so caring. He’d never been able to put the pieces together until now, when it was perhaps too late. His sister. The messy blonde hair and that same mischievous glint in her eyes. All this time, she had been there and he never knew, WCKD had taken her from him.

The following image struggled to become clear. It was the middle of the night, darkness surrounding the gladers, a mere month before Thomas arrived. Something had woken him up – he wasn’t sure what. Still groggy from sleep and about to roll over, he had been able to faintly make out a silhouette in the distance, leaning over another’s bed. Squinting, Newt could just make out Gally. Gally had never had the friendliest demeanour of the Gladers, but Newt had seen the good in him. Like the rest of them, deep down he was just as terrified, just hiding it better. But despite everything, Newt respected him. Gally had always meant well, even if it didn’t always seem that way. So when Gally took his own blanket and placed it gently over the new kid, Chuck, Newt had not been at all surprised yet the gesture warmed his heart. It seemed cruel to think what would befall the pair in those following weeks, but seeing a brief yet caring smile form on Gally’s face made everything seem okay. Sure, the Gladers had their faults, but they had always looked out for one another, no matter how tough things were.

 

But again, the memory was gone as quickly as it came, the next appearing. The six months he had spent in the camp after the Scorch had been full of ups and downs. But one day, exhausted from planning to rescue Minho from WCKD, Fry, Brenda, Tommy, and himself had decided to take a walk down on the shore. The water was sparkling, the setting sun hitting the waves at just the right angle and the sky was alight with hues of pinks and oranges. It was truly beautiful. Tommy was walking beside him, both of them silent. They didn’t need to say anything; recently they hadn’t been saying much at all. It was just simply _being_ there, knowing that the other was still ok, that was all they needed.  Frypan and Brenda were up ahead when Brenda had given Fry a small push, sending him tumbling into the water. But Brenda hadn’t even had time to react before Frypan popped back up, dragging her down too. He could hear Thomas laughing next to him, and he himself let out a small laugh, but it was the sight of Brenda and Frypan that really kept his attention, as they laughed and splashed each other. It was a perfect picture, painted clear as day in Newt’s mind. Their smiles were so pure, laughter so innocent, like they were finally able to be kids again. It was moments like these when Newt could envision himself in the Safe Haven, a world away from the torment and destruction they had been accustomed to. It was strange, feeling this tranquil when the world surrounding was burning.   

And then it was gone, the pieces of the image breaking up, dissolving as the next memory formed. After finding Newt in the Maze after his jump, Minho had made sure to be there every step of the way. The sun had not yet started to creep below the walls, instead the light casting eerie afternoon shadows throughout the trees to their left. A gentle breeze rustled through the grass, the tips gently brushing against Newt’s legs as the two of them wandered through the grassy fields on the outskirts of the Glade. They had stopped at the halfway point, giving Newt a chance to regain his strength, when Minho had made a sly remark about Frypan’s cooking which sent the boys into hysterics. He didn’t know how long they laughed for, but Newt remembered looking over at Minho as he doubled over trying to catch his breath. He was grinning from ear to ear, clearly pleased with what he had said, but there was relief in his eyes. He knew that Minho had been struggling with the weight of what had happened; he could sense the guilt that he was feeling, but seeing him like this, laughing like there wasn’t a worry in the world, well it was perfect. And for the first time in a _very_ long time he felt happy. As if he was finally beginning to feel like a person again.

A second, brief memory flashed into his mind. The moment, after months of planning, they finally found him again.As they hugged, just Minho, Tommy and himself leaning on one another for support, their surroundings dissolving as they embraced. In that moment it was just the three of them, back together again after so long apart. He could almost still feel Minho’s hand reaching round his back, his stiffened body slowing beginning to relax as the reality of the situation sunk in. Although Minho had said it, Newt had been wondering the same thing, ‘ _Is this real?’._ For as the virus’ control over his body and mind worsened, Newt had found himself struggling to distinguish between reality and fiction, the line progressively becoming more blurred. But this, _this_ was indeed real. And now it was all so clear in his mind. After six months of being apart they were finally back together again. And Newt had never wanted to let go, to stay forever in that moment, the last time he could remember genuinely smiling.

 

And finally, Tommy. Glimpses of different memories flashed before his eyes; the box, the bonfire, the chopper. But his mind finally settled on something, and before the picture had finished painting itself, Newt knew exactly what it was. A few months after Minho had been taken, well, things hadn’t been great. Newt had known Thomas wasn’t sleeping well; his restlessness at night often keeping Newt awake in the adjacent bunk. But he felt the same; the pain of losing Minho to WCKD was tearing them both apart. Newt could only imagine the horrors which tormented him in his sleep - if they were anything like his own then no wonder he was terrified to close his eyes. Early morning, Thomas had left the sleeping quarters just before dawn, but this time Newt had followed.

The air outside was chilling, a thin blanket of fog had settled over the camp during the night and was only now beginning to roll back out to sea. The small droplets of dew it left behind glistened on tips of dry leaves, the only evidence of the damp night passing. Everything was so quiet, undisturbed. He could see Tommy up ahead, a dark shape illuminated against the early morning light, perched on top of the rocks which marked the boundary between the camp and the shore.  Newt sat down beside him, pulling the thin, itchy blanket around their shoulders. The blanket itself did not provide much warmth, but it was their bodies touching, as they leaned on one another for support, that felt like a thousand tiny suns burning brightly under his skin.

Turning to face one another with the morning light giving off a soft glow as the stars faded away, he could see how tired Tommy looked. His forehead was still creased with worry, but the distant look which had haunted his eyes for so long seemed to finally be fading.  Neither of them said anything – they didn’t need to. Looking into Thomas’ eyes in that moment, everything became perfectly clear. Taking in every detail of his face, Newt hoped he would never forget this moment. That no matter what lay ahead for them this memory was something he could hold on to, until the very end. And so they had stayed like that, leaning on one another as they watched the sky turn from dull blues and greys to vibrant oranges and yellows.

It was a memory he liked to think about often. But this time there was something different, a cold, stinging pain in his chest growing stronger with each passing second, trying to tear him away from the warmth of the memory. Eventually it won, dragging him back to reality. To Thomas. But it wasn’t the same peaceful face that had been painted across his mind seconds earlier. Instead, horror flashed in his eyes, a look of complete shock on his face.

It was then that Newt realised why, as Thomas’ eyes looked down to where Newt could feel his hand grasping something cold and slippery. The knife. _Oh god._ Seconds earlier the pain had been screaming through his body; now it was fading away. He understood why. He knew what was happening. Although he wasn’t scared of dying, he realised that he did not want to go; he had finally found himself a family which he didn’t want to leave behind, people who made his life worth living.

There was still so much he wanted to do, so much he had never had the chance to say. He’d made sure to thank Minho and although he wished he could have said more, he knew Minho understood. But Tommy. They had spent the past six months leaning on each other for support and it had given them a deep understanding of one another.

The pain in Thomas’ eyes made his heart hurt so damn much. He hated seeing him like this, and he knew the guild would eat Thomas up. He needed Tommy to know that it wasn’t his fault. That there was nothing more he could’ve done. He wanted to tell him just how much he meant to him, how grateful he was to have known him. To tell him that it would be ok. To tell him how much he loved him.

Did he know? He knew he’d written the letter, but oh there was so much more he wished he could say. He wanted to tell him, face to face.

He should. But he could feel it. Something pulling at him, pulling him away. And a part of him wanted to just let go, to finally be able to rest. But he _had_ to say it, he had to try.

_’Tommy…’_

The words wouldn’t, no, couldn’t come.

In those final moments, looking at Thomas, he finally felt at peace. Because deep down he knew that Thomas knew. And sure, maybe if they had had more time he would’ve found the courage to say the words, but in a way, he already had.

Every look, every touch, every shared moment. Nothing needed to be said because they had both known. Through the time they’d spent together out of the maze, they had developed something which Newt couldn’t quite find the right words for. So, despite never saying it, he knew Thomas understood. He would be ok, they both would be.

There had been so much noise for so long, but now the world around him was quiet. He felt at peace.

The darkness that had been clawing its way into his body finally took him.

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Maze Runner fic, but I've been wanting to write this for a while now. It's a little angsty, but I really hope you liked it :)


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